


The Host is Done for Today

by Septictrash247



Series: Tales From The Alabaster Table [6]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Attempted Murder, Bad Decisions, Bad Flirting, Dark’s just as done, Dysfunctional Relationships, Fear of Heights, Host is a drama queen, Host is okay with killing people, JBM’s a badass, M/M, Sappy Ending, Semi-Dysfunction, background rivalry, learning and shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-15 21:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21260120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Septictrash247/pseuds/Septictrash247
Summary: After a sour morning, and an even worse afternoon. Host wasn’t in the mood to indulge himself with the useless and trivial chit chat of his peers. He needs to take his mind off of this, and unfortunately, his idea of stress relief doesn’t fly for a certain hero.Or— Host lowkey almost kills JBM because he’s a grouch.





	The Host is Done for Today

**Author's Note:**

> I love the Host a character and it’s such a shame that the stuff with Cyndago happened when it did. They brought so much life to Wilford and Host and it’s criminal that he’s not utilized for his potential. I find him to be what a real messed up version of Dark would be without his strict code to ask questions first and shoot later kinda thing.
> 
> ((No joke, I think Host fucking wrote WKM and IS Actor Mark))

_ Snow blankets the field; A pristine meadow of untouched white. No animals call, no birds cry. Only the steady rustling of wind through dead trees accented by the impacts of his acts. A crack, like thunder tings out as the ancient pine finally succumbs to his murderous assault. _

_ The old giant crashes into the ground. _

_ The man stands in the same place he’s been in for the past thirteen years. Writing out his life’s story for everyone to witness. _

_ And yet.. When they realize what it actually is, they’ll see me. Words of wistful worried wonder, creating and destroying all for the eventual reckoning. A ponderous notion, a noble effort turned to deception, a devious sibling to that of mistress mystery. How— _

The silence was broken, and thoughts were crumpled and torn from the distracting sound. A sound that happened to be the screams of the people, trapped beneath the floorboards. The Host, was sitting in front of his typewriter— an old fashioned system of writing that, really wasn’t practical for him; but the clacking of those old keys and the smell of ink branded onto the flesh of warm paper, was practically his aesthetic. With a disgruntled scowl, he knew the screaming wouldn’t shut up unless he went down and investigated, then threatened the source at hand. Which was a shame. He had hoped he wouldn’t have to lose another one of his resources, and things were just starting to get good! He was really striking gold and now—

“It’s been two months! _ Please! _” 

He sighed and messed up his bangs, he couldn’t help but overhear the woman’s thoughts, intertwined with the others down below. _ Trapped, tired, too dim to see, too musty to breath. Its overly cramped and throats are dry– hoarse from screaming. Their nails almost nonexistent and skin irritatingly crusty from the blood that had formed as they all scrapped at the concrete and hard wood of their confinement. They fear they’ll never be found, quiet and frantic whispers, soft murmurs of prayer, abandonment. Suffering in silence as the rats trapped amongst the walls have nothing to rely on but themselves, and even then.. They are all ready to turn on each other in order to save themselves. _ Humans were so predictable. 

The master of manipulation stood in a huff and grabbed his bandages, protecting himself from the more intense and harsher light that was illuminating from underneath the door of his dimly lit secluded quarters. Besides, he needed to really focus in order for his intentions to come across the way he wanted. He fiddled with his shirt collar and tie, his fingers not quite deciding on loosening it, or tightening it back up into place. He decided, _ ‘fuck the tie’ _ , and tossed it with gauche and reckless abandon onto the floor as he stormed his way out onto the top of the darkened oak stairs of his well furnished home. He felt the wall beside himself until his dexterous fingers found the light’s power dial and rotated it towards his preferred accommodations. The chandelier sparkled like dim little fireflies, decorating the interior with their warmth. The carpet was a deep red that even the strongest of wine stains could not be seen. Small tables and shelves holding his most expensive properties and awards bestowed onto him. The knickknacks seemed to welcome their master as he descended down into the main room of the house. A quick turn to the left was made and there was an unassuming broom closet. Only, it wasn’t a simple unassuming broom closet. With swift three knocks, suddenly, it became the _ ‘cask of amontillado’_. Host also kind of took the inspiration from Ray Bradbury’s _ ‘Usher II’ _ so if you were familiar with the Host and his love for the macabre, then you wouldn’t have been surprised to have known that the room that had opened up from behind the wall, led to a prison made of stone and well furnished wood. The best selling author noted how his steps echoed as they swept across the solid and chilled concrete floor. Dusty, he would have to clean out the place some time later...

  
  


He was late. Those— fucking good for nothing, ungrateful, inconsiderate, tactless— he made a purposeful hard stop in the middle of the long and wide hallway, made of solid white plaster. He looked around to take a moment to breath as the mysterious male straightened out the creases of the midnight blue dress shirt and umber brown tweed jacket that adorned his person. The unapproachable male was quite uncomfortable showing up to a gathering with this more casual attire. But, he was in too much of a hurry to change into his regular ensemble. The building that was used as the housing facility for all of the scheduled ego meetings, smelled of stale, musty dust that was narly a week old. It also smelled of old drink stains that had seeped deep into these coarse haired jute and sisal rugs that had probably accumulated over the course of seven months. The cleaning staff had been short for these past few weeks. Something about going onto better opportunities or actual lack of maintaining proper hourly schedules might’ve had something to do with it. But thank god that Maria, the young twenty year old caucasian adolescent, had managed to pull a double shift. If it wasn’t bad enough, she signed on again for a few extra nightly hours in desperate need to move up in the world. She was barely surviving enough as it was, already struggling with managing her hours enough as it was; Busy with finishing school, her sickly and divorced mother as well as trying to manage her upkeep and appearance. But, a mysterious, suit cladded gentleman always made her stop and stare in a daze. His aura exuded power and confidence that she couldn’t help but to get caught up on. She blamed her helpless romantic cravings, but his charming yet rare smile made her heart flutter. How she longed to be in his strong and yet tender embrace—

“ARG! Shut up shut up shut up!” 

The writer gripped at his ears, his thoughts pulsing and clouding as others intruded. Small whispers of people’s; lives, thoughts, feelings, emotions, all enveloped his own. He was sinking into the dry, cool, and endless dunes of the desert that threatened to swallow him. So lost in the details of each minuscule little grain of sand and how they moved, bend, and shaped themselves from the manipulation of his unnatural force that he often found himself forgetting that he was trying to find his own oasis. Teeth clenched, and fingers gripping, grasping at stability and comfort. Angry and frustrated. He took a deep breath, standing straight, he stalk forward and turned a sharp right towards the meeting room. There, he would find no surprises, no twists, or excitement to stimulate his already uneasy mind.

“You’re late.”

Dark stated, his coal colored orbs baring into him with distaste and disapproval. The Host’s lip twitched, threatening to turn into a snarl. But he didn’t want to get into it right now. So instead he muttered, “I was busy.” Dark just sighs and gestured for the awaited arrival to take a seat, not even looking at him. The author obeyed, bitterly. Nothing ever changes. Though… 

The Korean apparition leered his head over to the right, just a tad. The tiniest hint of a smile graced his lips as there was some semblance of silence next to him. His infatuation, was sitting a shoulders length in space beside him. John, the little hero that could. The snapback cap wearing, fandom loving dork catches his smile and returned it with his own, big and bright one. Yes, the two were.. Seeing each other every now and again, but Host would admit that it has been the best sort of distraction he’s ever had. You see, John had this— not so secret double life as a superhero named, Jackaboyman. Or was it Jack-IE boyman? He could never quite tell. Either way, despite not having the powers he had claimed to possess— John while in costume was a formidable foe and sorta kindred spirit towards the Host. For, the author too had a double life and went under the alias Andrew Adwin and had a very successful career because of it. Whereas John’s ‘normal’ life was very mediocre but fulfilled in joy and contempt. Hell, even before the eldest Septic ego knew about the two being the same person, he read Adwin’s novels often and kept limited additions. A true fan through and through. On the surface, their respect for their social lifestyles seemed to coincide friendly enough. Giving each other advice and communicating politely, though John still has his tendency to geek out to him about r/fandom stuff; A new show coming out, or a series they needed to catch up on, or maybe adapting some of his novels into graphic novels. It was amusingly cute to say the least.

So, with a regard from the two of them, Host felt himself calm down a little more and allowed the mumblings of his peers to turn into white noise. In his mind, he focused primarily on the novel he had been working on before, opting to start on a new paragraph or a free verse poem just to keep things interesting. The enigmatic man leaned back in his chair ever so slightly, and lost himself into a comfortable world of white, where water droplets beat against a window.

  
  


_ There is no happiness. There is nothing that awaits us in the darkness. Do you understand me? Nobody does. You laugh at the fact that I don't know how to control my actions. My voice, my words, escape out into the blanket of unified appraisals. Why don’t you ponder on it.. The same monotonous situations and expectations as ever. I await at the desk, so familiar to me, as the sound of an echoed knock unraveled the illusion of silence. Listen, there’s a body at the door. Should I greet him? Find me a gun. Do you understand me? Nobody do— _

  
  


The phone in the front pocket of the second eldest began to ring. Effectively snapping him, and anyone else who was previously inattentive or engaged in the conversation, out of their focus. Dark, who was standing as per the norm, glanced over slowly at the Host. Clearly, the unprofessional level he had exhibited thus far was more than a slap to the face in Darkiplier’s fucking palace of pretentious facade’s. As for more unfortunately, the author associated the ring with his manager and publisher. As he carefully pulled his phone out, a quick inspection to the caller’s I.D in fact confirmed this notion, and he groaned sending it to voicemail with a quick swipe of his thumb. “My manager—“ he began to explain, only for the phone to immediately buzz to life in his hands. Damn that women’s persistence. His jaw clenched and he fumbled with a quick excuse. “I have to, she’s not going to take no for an answer.” And put it on speaker phone just to simultaneously prove he wasn’t lying and to annoy Dark by way of not exiting the room. Which, he was pleased– had got a verbal reaction. 

“Really? In the room, take it outside—!”

“Andrew?” The female manager of his four year career answered. Andrew cleared his throat, ignore _ someone’s _ impatient gaze as he answered. 

“Yes Abella, what is it this time?”

“_ Don’t _Abella me.”

“... You sound unhappy. Did I do something—“

“_ Two months _ . I’ve been waiting for two months to get the very FIRST draft of your manuscript! A draft that you’ve delayed for the _ third _ time! I can’t keep making exceptions for you, this is your job and God forbid that you can’t just— let this pass through. You can’t always be a perfectionist about a first fucking draft! I don’t want to be having this conversation with you for the fifth time—that’s right I _ kept count _ — I’ve had to ask you and remind you to step up. You can’t always blame the creative processes, this is your job, ** _and mine_ **. That’s it— I can’t keep doing this for you—“

Oh, he did not need this right now. He just sorta faded out as he continued to listen to her bitch and moan… Placing his free hand to his brow, he rubbed at his forehead, tenderly rubbing at it. Then, the woman’s voice on the other line began to waver, stuttering. Slowly, ebbing away from her words was her breath. Head dizzy and lungs steadily burning like the room was becoming vacant of air. She panted and started to cough, coughing softly, turning into desperate wheezes as something didn’t feel right. Lungs, her teeny little lungs, threatening to pop. She gagged, choking as coughing did nothing to eliminate the blockage in her throat. Tears stained her bloodshot eyes. Voice– dying, crackling over the phone’s speaker… As the Host just sat there, rubbing his forehead.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. The Septics that we’re present were too stunned to take action, and the Ipliers just kinda accepted this behavior. Five of them were guilty of murders themselves so, what difference did it make? A hand placed itself upon the struggling writer’s arm and squeezed firmly. He was brought back to his surroundings but Abella still sounded like she was about to utter her last breath over the speaker phone. “Andy, don’...” Said John, squeezing more gently this time, seeing how he had gotten Andrew’s desired attention. The manipulator in control of a person’s fate, sighed defeated. You know, as this wasn’t going to be some horrid, egregious act of murder. But instead acting like he had just been told to separate the whites from the colors for the wash. Still, he let go of his grip on her and muttered, “I’ll call you back.” Once hearing her big intakes of breath, clicking the end call button. After a moment of tense silence, the chatter resumed with more suspicious whispering underlay to accompany the Host’s mind.

  
  
  


“Don’ think that m’ gonna let you take one more step offa this property without talkin’ about this.” John said firmly crossed with a scowl on his face. He blocked the doorway towards the opening of the building’s over pass into the next one. It was a good sized bridge that connected the two and wasn’t that high off of the ground. Still, it elevated a nice breeze and view. The Korean tilted his head forward towards the younger that stood in the middle of his passageway. He considered him for a moment. Just a moment. Before deciding that no, he didn’t want to get into how he was feeling today. Not even John. So, instead of simply turning around and walking the other direction, his broader body nudged the smaller man out of the way quiet rudely. This caught the fair skinned man off guard as he whipped around gobsmacked. “Wh— are you srsly gonna be like that?” He called out after him. The author just continued to walk forward, stuffing his hands unceremoniously into his deep pockets. John called out to him again, running after him. “Andy… Andrew..” He said in a gentler tone, stopping in front of the slightly taller person in order to try and place a soft touch upon his shoulder or arm in an attempt to make peace with the situation. The Host acknowledged the motion, and reflected upon the weighted options presented to him. He could confide in the other, if he wanted. 

No… No he really couldn’t, not to the extent that his psyche needed at least. 

Ironically, the hero could never truly save him from who he was nor change the fire of his nature. Thus, this distraction in the long run, John’s companionship over time would start to mean nothing to the biracial male anymore. Much to the sociopath’s credit, he had the decency to spare the hero of this burden that came with his maltreatment and sadistic tendencies. He was hiding a lot from him, and he didn’t want to hurt the kind and golden hearted fanboy by unleashing that warehouse of baggage. So, placing a large hand over the slimmer digits, the master of manipulation tilted his head towards the hero. Unfortunately… His words did not express the kindness of his actions as he said, “It was a fun experience and the circumstances were definitely in each others benefit… But I'm sad to say that this can’t continue. Go home John.” He didn’t even give time for the blue eyed man to even comprehend what had just happened before he was walking off again  
  
  


John looked over his shoulder, chest heaving as it had suddenly began to grow heavy. He.. Was sure he hadn’t done anything wrong, right? Was this an act or was it an honest to god break up? But most importantly… All this time, had he meant so little to the man who seemed to have everything? He watched his back, figure growing smaller and smaller until he glared back at him, eyes burning with seething sparks of a deep desire for integrity. “.. You wanna play this game? Fine.” He growled. 

It wasn’t even a second later until the Host stood still. An uneasy silence fills the long bridge and its surroundings. Curiously, he turned around and discovered that no one was standing behind him, he supposed John must’ve left like he had asked. But then why– “Ugh! Fuck!” A swift kick to the left side of his face impacted him with the speed and power of a sword strike, causing him too stagger to the side of the guard railing. He clutched his cheek and focused on who or what that was. He could feel those fluid movements, the wind encompassing their bodies. He could see with his mind exactly who had just kicked him in the face as the figure flipped from the bridge’s column onto the stable, solid concrete surface he stood upon. Honestly, Host shouldn’t have been so surprised. 

“Guess that’s how this is gonna be.”  
  
The hero, Jackaboyman, stood in his way. Eyes narrowed with vengeance, or perhaps some self fulfilled justification, either one would’ve been a fine description honestly. Though, Host hadn’t done anything technically wrong to the hero’s knowledge. He was still refusing to talk. So maybe he’d talk to the writer in a language he understood.

Host grew a little intrigued as he straightened himself, playing into his role as easy as it was to submerge oneself against the gentle waves of a vacant pool. 

“Well, this is certainly a surprise, what’s the occasion?”

He asked and gestures towards the suit that adorned JBM’s body. It was pitch black; making his toned figure and accentuated curves around his hips much more appealing. The usual long blue sash tied around his waist was switched out for a shimmering crimson one at a much shorter length. The ends of his suit, the tips of his fingers and shoes were red, which was also paired with a sort of mouth cover that hid much of the hero’s emotions. The only inkling that Host could gather in an expression, was through his strikingly pronounced green eyes, encased in black as well. This was.. Certainly a strong detour away from his normal presentation but, well.. The Host found it hard to not find his determination _ and outfit _endearing. The effort was certainly welcomed.

JBM said nothing, and instead reevaluated his positioning, readjusting his stance so he was squared up with his weight equally distributed amongst his limbs. Host tilted his head, a playful smile still on his face. 

“Come now, the theatrics are more than enough to have my attention, you don’t need to bluff around me my little grasshopper.”

The response was a shuffle forward and an instantaneous uppercut to the left of the opposing side’s abdomen. Host gasped out a pained grunt of surprise, and gritted his teeth. “Fucking hell—“ he felt the wind shift and he zeroed in on the retract of the arm and the scuffling sounds of feet stepping forward. JBM was reeling back for another strike, so the villain leaned all his weight into backing away, and caught the arm mid swing. He gripped at the forearm which had the muscles straining in its limited confinement. Host opted again to try and talk.

“Give me a second! What is this about—“

“Now you wanna talk? Sorry, I thought you were too busy bein’ a real dick—“

The hero twisted his arm around in the hold, snatching back the power for control and twisted his torso around. The other hand ensnares the broader man’s bicep. With all of his focus, John flung the Host over his shoulder, and continuously spoke in a bitter as he moved the heavy weight of the muscular man onto the concrete. 

“—N’ ignorin’ me!”

Host hissed as his back collided with the pavement, and his arm having gone a perfect arc of 180 degrees without his permission was sore and hurt like hell. John was… Clearly upset, and not in the mood to talk, dishing out some -honestly well deserved- payback towards him. Host didn’t think he would take a break up so hard, but he couldn’t win this battle without focusing. Quickly, he narrowed his concentration, took a deep breath, and took advantage of the opportunistic grace period.

_ ‘The hero loomed over the intrepid man that had been pinned quite unceremoniously onto his back. The defense gritted his teeth and thus figured that it was fair to catch the surprisingly cynical exemplar by a true switch in scenery… Warm yet cool, the breeze is stronger at the top. Yes, the structure would handle itself well. Two people would be nothing when compared to its foundations, strength, and…’ _

He grinned through the pain, and muttered.

“It’s a lovely day, why not take this appreciation of scenery to new _ heights _?”

The luminary persona furrowed his brows together in question before they went wide with a horrific revelation that left him flummoxed. His heart leaping into his throat as he tried to back away in time to get out of that situation, but he quickly felt the strong pull of the breeze open up all around him, his very presence feeling exposed and vulnerable to the element. His feet and weight were victims of gravity as there was nothing beneath him but a long drop down to the ground from the building they were currently in just a second ago. His vision was suddenly snapped to a cloudless blue sky and as his heart elevated towards his throat, his stomach plummeted as the attracting force beckoned him. His breath was snatched away by the tug of his suit collar, keeping the Irish hero from continuing to fall backwards. He looked upon the ill intended American in front of him, who was smirking sadistically. Sadly, JBM couldn’t find the strength to get furious and could only tell himself repeatedly, _ “Don’ look down, Don’ look down, there’s no foukin’ floor beneath you, DO NOT LOOK DOWN.” _His body shaking from the inevitability of a life threatening danger. 

“Do I have your attention now?”

The villain said smugly, and just as calm. When the green eyed man said nothing and kept his terrified gaze up at the sky, the malefactor teased the idea of letting him go with a quick release and snatch maneuver that made him relish in the way that staggering, petrified yelp came from the mask crusader. 

“I must say that this is rather ironically comical is it not? You spend your free time doing daredevil like stunts that involve a little risk taking. Some even involving rooftops. But when faced with it, you’re actually terrified of heights.”

He chuckled and let out a satisfying breath, humming in good nature as he took in the other’s fear in this precarious situation. “You look good by the way..” he leaned forward, the younger still too scared to make the wrong move or say anything that would end up in a nasty death. His logical side wasn’t even trying to convince him that the man he thought he knew so well, wouldn’t drop him. He most certainly could only stay in freeze mode as clearly flight or fight wasn’t an option. Host whispered into his ear, chills crawling in partnership to the voice all over John’s body when that deep vocalization seemed to travel towards the base of his spine. 

“Trembling underneath me.. Nothing could ever compare to that intoxicating look. I should hang you off of buildings more often.”

  
  


Neon green eyes snapped towards bloodied bandaged ones, two hands shot forward and clawed around the offender’s wrist desperately clinging to the one semblance of a life line. Blue flickered in those iris’s and a pitiful whisper was choked out of the poor man’s throat. “I-I..” Host hesitated a little bit, and pulled is large head away just enough to show he was listening. 

“I— Jus’ didn’ wanna lose you… W-when it wasn’ my fault.. Is it my fault?”

The question was spoken so small and so meekly that Host barely recognized that this utterance was coming from the hero. Then he realized.. It wasn’t. It was coming from _ his _ John and whatever heart or feelings he happened to have— made him drop his smile and pulled his romantic interest into his arms safely, wrapping them tightly and secure around the shaking man. “Oh my god.” He muttered out as he held him and perspective once again seemed to have resurfaced into that twisted head. 

In all the time he spent with John.. He felt the lines between what he was made to do, and what he wanted to do conflict dangerously. This was exactly what he was trying to prevent by having them break up, this was exactly the reason he remained closed off and reserved. The two sank to their knees once he felt John reciprocate his hold, just embracing each other. Host— Andrew, tried lamely at an attempt of trying to explain himself, but, well— I’m not sure how you can explain attempted murder to someone and have it be okay. Especially when it was happening to you first hand. Still, he had to try. 

“I’m so _ so _ sorry. I, shit, I’m a god awful person, you _ know _ first hand how terrible I can be and you try so tirelessly to repair someone that’s too fucking demoralized and severed from this fucking reality, why shouldn’t even be giving me the god damn time of day, and I.. and I..” 

He paused, and Andrew pulled away from John, just enough so that he could face him. No emotions could be read, but the slimmer male’s outline was still shaking. The American bit his lip, chest rising and falling slowly as added heaviness made it suffocating, his shoulders slumped over in defeat. Slowly, with careful fingers, he trailed them over his stained bandages and unraveled the gauze with the same slow and monotonous speed that one callous prick might crank a jack-in-the-box to invite some tension. The starch fabric fell unmannerly around his neck, and he slowly opened his damaged eyes. The sclera was irritated, displaying the uncomfortable hue of an inflamed red. This was due to some past and possibly self inflicted trauma. His irises and pupil that once mirrored the majority of the more normal Iplier’s were now hazy and white. Like a thick fog that layered the surface of murky and precarious lake. John showed no reaction to this reveal as he was privy to this information already. But it proved to show that whatever emotions Host kept hidden behind his bandages or shades, Andrew would show to the one whom he trusted the most.

“I didn’t want you to have to put up with me.. With this, anymore. Isn’t… Isn’t that what heroes do? Push the ones they love away to protect them?”

He asked with genuine curiosity, for he wasn’t entirely sure if that’s what happens or not. He waited patiently for John to say anything, and his heartbeat quicken in anticipation, making the silence linger longer for much more than it probably was. John, through wide eyes, quickly removed his two-piece mask to expose himself as well. His neon greens were switched out for blue and his dyed locks also reverted to their normal brown with fine grey hairs mixed in. His expression read shock, and he fumbled with his words.

“Yer— why would ye think— how did— n’ you jus’... That’s really foukin’ stupid.”

“Huh..?”

“That has almost _ never _ worked! Yer srsly had te convince me that you were gonna _ kill _ me in order te protect me? N’ why were you bein’ such an unbelievable dick today? Why couldn’ you jus’ talk te me instead of doin’ a self indulgent pussy card?! I mean, _ come on _ ! Moulin Rouge, Spider-Man, Deadpool, Batman, One Piece, Seven Deadly Sins, Fruits Basket, foukin’ _ Twilight _ ! The ‘Break his heart to save him’ trope doesn’ work, n’ you as a writer should know better, n’ you should know _ me _better than that, you dumbass.”

The Irishmen furthered to make his point by punching him in the chest, hard and repeatedly.. Andrew took his lumps as well, this was the start of payment for hanging him off the side of a building so.. Have at it. Once he was sure that the unsurprisingly pissed off individual had gotten the anger out of his systems, John sank back onto his knees and tilted his head back to let a sigh escape from his trembling lips. “John..” He began, but said male just held up a hand to silence the chatter and then proceeded to scrub at his face. Slowly, he landed his gaze back upon Andrew’s fuzzy eyes and spoke bluntly. “Is it my fault?” He asked with no room for loquacious talk. The author lowered his gaze, making himself smaller.  
  
“No..”

“Than what is it?”

“I.. It’s just.. It’s been a bad day.”

“So.. Yer jus’.. Grouchy?”

“Uh, in terms of the perspective that’s being presented, i’m not entirely sure that the descriptive would necessarily, in my mind at least be considered— “

“Andy.”

“... Y.. Yes.”

John went silent for a long time, taking in those strong and seldom features. Andrew could feel the gaze probing into his soul and testing his limits when it came to comfort. He shrank back further nervously, feeling his pristine cheekbones heat up in a tiny yet noticeable flush. It wasn’t everyday that the Host could get embarrassed but today was a very off day. Abruptly, the silence was shattered by John’s loud and jovial laughter. Tossing his head back, the corner of his eyes crinkling with delight, and his nose scrunching up in the most winsome way possible. At least, Andy would find it cute, if he wasn’t the subject of ridicule right now.

  
“Y-you were— were g-gonna yeet me offa foukin’ buildin’ over— o-over a b-bad mood?”   
  
John gasped to breath in between his chortles, and guffawing, clutching at his stomach like something lived in there. Eventually, he gave up trying to silence his laughter and inside rested his head upon the crook of Andrew’s neck and chest, nuzzling against his comforting warmth. Soon, the younger’s sniggering became infectious. The biracial author too, began tittering with deep and low chuckles, thinking about how he would often think less of Dark or anyone else for going into hysteria over the tiniest of things. Only to discover on this day that he was no better, and truly was an Iplier through and through. Strong arms draped themselves over the darkly cladded hero’s back, chuckles meddling towards squeaky giggles and his efforts were rewarded by a similar attempt to embrace him. The two idiots sat there upon the rooftop of a concrete building, tears coming into their eyes as relief from the very heavens themselves began to open up and shower them in blessed rain drops...

**Author's Note:**

> I love the concept of the Villain and Hero having a complicated love dynamic and I absolutely adore this pairing— the first ship drawing I ever did. I hope their relationship finds a name. Does ‘CottonVeil’ sound good or ‘Oxymorons’?


End file.
